


Frozen in Time

by SherlockedCumbercookie



Category: Pompeii (2014), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Ancient Rome, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child slavery, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gladiators, Historical AU, Past Child Abuse, Pompeii, Pregnancy, Roman Britain, Roman Slave AU, Sad Ending, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slave Sherlock Holmes, Slavery, Unplanned Pregnancy, Volcanoes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedCumbercookie/pseuds/SherlockedCumbercookie
Summary: It's 79 AD.Mariana (Molly) is a wealthy young Roman lady who is being forced to marry the oafish and disgusting senator, Moriaty. On her way to Pompeii to meet the senator, Mariana crosses paths with a handsome Briton slave named Sherlock. It's love at first sight for the both of them but they both struggle knowing that their love can never be.A sherlolly Roman Au.Warning for heartbreak... utter heartbreak. If you have watched the 2014 Pompeii movie, then you will know...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! Please leave kudos and comments! :)  
> Be aware that this may not be entirely historically accurate and there won't be much use of Latin words so... just a quick heads up! 
> 
> Mariana is Molly.  
> Sherlock is... Sherlock.

He watched in horror as his mother’s body crumpled to the ground beside him. 

Briefly, their eyes met, and he saw the love shining in her blue gaze. 

She looked almost beautiful, in the pale moonlight. Although her face was streaked with dirt and blood, she looked serene and at peace. She struggled to say something, but the pain was too great. Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth, and she coughed. “M-My son,” she whispered, reaching out a shaking hand. Her fingers brushed his forehead and pushed the dark curls away from his eyes. The weary lines on her face melted as she smiled. “My precious son.” 

He lay still, his gaze locked on her face, daring not to move. “Mama,” he murmured. 

The hand fell from his forehead and the beautiful lashes fluttered. She coughed again and more blood spilled onto her fingers. Her breaths came in short gasps as she struggled to hold onto life. “Sherlock,” she wheezed, grimacing at her effort to speak. Then, the sapphire eyes closed forever, and the last color of life drained from her face. Her body relaxed and her head lolled to the side. 

He closed his eyes, silent tears streaming down his face. 

The soldiers put him in the pile with the rest of the dead bodies. 

He lay quietly, trying not to gag from the terrible stench of death and blood. The sounds of the Romans were fading into the distance but still he did not move. Acrid smoke reached his nostrils and he realized that the huts were burning. The Romans were probably surrounding the camp, making sure that any survivors did not make it out of the village alive. The smoke would give good cover, he thought, and carefully wormed his way out of the bodies. 

What met his eyes was a sight of total devastation. The tribe’s prized horses had all been slaughtered. Their mutilated bodies lay stretched out on the ground. Already, flies were gathering. The sod and straw huts that had been his home for as long as he could remember had been reduced to a pile of rubble. Small patches of fire were licking at the remnants of the building, devouring up the wooden beams and furniture. The bodies of the tribe’s greatest warriors hung upside down from the branches of scorched trees, cold and lifeless. 

He stood for a while under that tree, looking up into a face he knew well. “Father,” he whispered. 

A few hours later, he found himself wandering the cold moor. When night fell, he crawled under a gorse bush and fell promptly asleep. The next thing he knew was a hand grasping him, yanking him to his feet, and smacking him harshly. He was thrown onto the back of a horse and that was the last thing he knew before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.


	2. Servus

Mariana leaned back on the cushions and drew in a heavy breath. Her slender fingers absentmindedly toyed with the bejeweled chain hanging from her neck. She was trembling inside, but she dared not show it on the outside. Pressing her lips together firmly, she pulled aside the curtain of the carriage. “I do hope we’re almost there,’’ she whispered, gazing out at the green hills, nearly barren except for a few scraggly trees. 

“We have just left Rome, my mistress,’’ Eirene, her maid, replied gently. “It will be several hours until we reach Pompeii. Might as well settle in and enjoy the ride.’’ Eirene brushed a red curl away from her face and smiled. “Perhaps we should discuss the plans for your wedding.’’ She reached into her satchel and pulled out a stack of paper. 

Mariana turned her face away. “I don’t want to think about such things, Eirene.’’ She let the curtain fall back into place. “I honestly don’t want to think about anything. My head hurts.’’ 

With a disappointed sigh, Eirene tucked the papers back into her satchel. “Don’t worry, Mariana. Things aren’t as bad as they seem. At least try to be happy. Senator Moriaty is a very well-spoken and wealthy man. He will make a good husband for you. Over time, I am sure that you two will learn to love each other.’’ She reached out and patted Mariana’s hand, trying to offer some measure of comfort. 

“He’s nearly thirty years older than me, Eirene, and he has warts all over his face!’’ Mariana snapped, her green eyes flashing with frustration. “I think he looks like a toad! He may be wealthy, but his riches do not attract me! We will never be able to love each other with burning, fiery passion. I shall hate to sleep in the same bed as he, the disgusting man!’’ She drew her shawl about her shoulders and shivered. “But...I have no choice. This is what comes of being the daughter of a wealthy general. I am but a pawn, used for merely political purposes.’’ She shook her head, causing her curls to fall out of the messy bun they had been in. “I long for true love...a romance alit with passion! How I long to clasp my love to my breast and whisper burning words in his ears! We shall run away-away from all this political turmoil-and die together, united forever in death!’’ 

Eirene shook her head, trying to hold back a smile. “You read too many romance tales, my mistress.’’ 

Mariana smirked. “How I wish those tales were true!’’ 

Suddenly, there was a shout and both Eirene and Mariana jumped. “What is that!?!’’ Mariana hissed fearfully as Eirene yanked aside the curtain. 

Passing by the carriage was a gang of slaves and their guards. The slaves were all men, bound together by heavy iron chains. They were thin, beaten, and weary. Some of them looked as if they might collapse at any second. The soldiers were prodding them with whips and the pommels of their swords. Eirene and Mariana watched in sober silence. Slavery was not uncommon in the Roman Empire and, although it was the norm for wealthy people to own slaves, Mariana’s family did not. Eirene had been a slave, but her freedom had been paid for and she was a free woman, working for Mariana under her own free will. Mariana snuck a glance at Eirene’s face and saw that the young woman was biting her lip hard, probably remembering her time as a slave. 

“Look at that one, Mariana,’’ Eirene whispered, pointing. 

Mariana looked in the direction that Eirene was pointing in. At the head of the slaves, there was a young man, looking to be in his early twenties. Unlike the other slaves, he did not look weary. He held his head high and looked very proud. Unlike the darker Romans, his skin was snow-white, and Mariana could see that his body was covered in scars and old bruises. He had a head of unruly black curls that hung low over a pair of captivating bright blue eyes. Tall, lean, and well-muscled, he was very attractive. He looked very wild and Mariana noticed that the soldiers kept a close eye on him. 

“He is a barbarian,’’ Eirene said. “No other people have such white skin!’’ 

“He doesn’t look much older than me,’’ Mariana murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the slave. “He is a slave and is clothed in rags, yet he acts as if he is a prince.’’ The man carried himself with dignity despite his miserable appearance. One might have imagined he was wearing purple and silk instead of rags that barely covered his body. 

“That pride will get him beaten or worse,’’ Eirene flatly. “He has not yet broken...but he will.’’ She lowered her gaze and twisted her slender hands in her lap. “I remember how it was to have your spirit broken. It was as if you were merely an animal. The word human no longer existed in your vocabulary.’’ 

Mariana glanced at her friend and saw that Eirene was struggling to hold back tears. “Don’t worry, Eirene. You are no longer a slave. You are my friend and my sister! I don’t know what I would do without- Ahhh!!!’’ Suddenly, the carriage lurched, causing Mariana to fall forward into Eirene’s arms. “W-What!?!’’ she gasped, her head swimming. The carriage felt as if it was tipping dangerously to the left. Scrambling out of Eirene’s arms, she stuck her head out of the window. “Driver! What has happened?’’ she called. 

The driver, looking very nervous, jumped down from the box, wringing his hands. “My lady, the wheel is stuck in a rut. One of the horses is down.’’ He knelt on the ground and laid a hand on the horse’s flank. The stallion was quivering in fear and pain; his neck was twisted at an odd angle. “I don’t think he will get up again.’’ 

Mariana hopped out of the carriage and joined the driver on the ground. “Can’t we do something?’’ she asked, stroking the stallion’s soft, black muzzle. 

“I’m afraid not, my lady.’’ The driver wiped sweat from his forehead. 

“Let me have a look!’’ 

Mariana looked up at the voice. 

She saw that the young slave had stepped forward and was pleading with a soldier to free him. 

“Sir, I have experience with horses. Perhaps I can help,’’ the slave said, holding up his bound wrists. “I promise I won’t try to run. That horse is in pain!” 

“Get back in line, slave,’’ the soldier growled in reply, striking the slave across the face. 

“Stop it!’’ Mariana shouted, incensed to witness such maltreatment. “Release the slave and do not touch him again.” She turned to the slave. “Please, come.” 

The soldier, grumbling under his breath, bowed and complied, slicing the rope that tied the slave’s hands together. “Better not try anything, boy,’’ he hissed, giving the slave a shove. 

Ignoring the soldier, the slave knelt beside Mariana and laid his hands on the horse’s neck. He prodded gently and when the horse whinnied in pain, he paused and comforted it. At the sound of the slave’s soft voice, the horse’s shaking stopped, and it laid still. Its ears were the only part of it that were moving. “Aye, pretty boy, you’ve taken a bad fall, haven’t you?’’ the slave murmured, running his hands down the length of the stallion’s neck. “My lady, his neck isn’t broken but I’m afraid his back is,’’ the slave said, for the first time, meeting Mariana’s gaze. 

“There must be something that we can do,’’ Mariana replied, biting her lip with worry. 

“I’m afraid not, my lady. He won’t make it. I think I ought to put it out of its misery.’’ The slave grabbed the horse’s head. “I’m so sorry, pretty boy.’’ Then he jerked upwards. There was a loud crack and the horse’s body convulsed before lying still in death. 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence as Mariana gazed at the slave’s face. The slave’s eyes flitted to her face. Mariana could see that he was fighting an inner battle. There was agony written on his face, as if he longed to reach out and touch her against his better judgement. Up close, Mariana could see that he was very handsome. Although his face was haggard and worn, he still had a boyish glow. The corners of his mouth were slowly turning up and then, he smiled at her. Gods... those lips, shaped like Cupid’s bow. In that moment, Mariana felt her heart melt. She was enchanted. “I’m Mariana,’’ she said, returning the smile with a shy grin of her own. 

“Sherlock,’’ the slave replied. 

“You’re not from Rome.’’ 

Sherlock hook his head. “No, my lady. I’m from Angle’s Land, or Briton.” 

Mariana raised her eyebrows. “That is a long way from Rome.’’ 

The slave looked away and nodded. “It is a long way away.’’ There was a catch in his voice, almost as if he was holding back tears. Then, he slowly staggered to his feet, looking almost reluctant to leave her side. 

Mariana rose, too, and reached out a hand. Her fingers brushed his arm. He paused and looked down at her. “Don’t go,’’ Mariana whispered. 

“Come on, boy.’’ A soldier strode over and placed a heavy hand on the slave’s shoulder. Sherlock jerked from his grasp; his teeth gritted. His hands curled into fists and for a moment, there was silence as everyone waited to see if the slave would dare strike the soldier. Mariana held her breath. 

“Please don’t do it...please.’’ she thought. 

Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed and he stepped back, bowing his head in submission. 

The soldier laughed cruelly and re-tied Sherlock’s hands. 

Mariana started forward but someone grabbed her arm. She turned around to find Eirene standing beside her. Eirene wordlessly shook her head. “But...but...’’ Mariana stuttered. 

“There is nothing you can do,’’ Eirene whispered. 

Her heart aching, Mariana watched in silence as the slaves and soldiers continued down the path. She could see Sherlock’s broad shoulders and his proud head, and her eyes welled with tears. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.’’ Never had she felt such a pull to a man. Sherlock was a slave and she was a princess. The difference of their status was great, but Mariana pushed aside all thoughts of what was proper. Something about him had drawn her to him. She longed to find out more about this mysterious British slave. 

Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder and his blue eyes met Mariana’s dark ones. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He nodded stiffly. 

Mariana swallowed back a sob and turned away. She could not bear to look into those beautiful eyes anymore. 

*************************************************** 

It had been 18 years... 

18 long years. 

Every night, he dreamed of that awful day. 

His mother’s face flashed before his eyes and he could see the terror of her expression. 

“I love you, my son,’’ she whispered, before disappearing. 

“Don’t go!’’ he pleaded, but she was gone. 

Sherlock jerked away and sat up straight. He was damp with sweat. His breath came in short gasps. Clenching his fists, he drew in some deep breaths to calm his fluttering heart. “Not again,’’ he muttered through gritted teeth. Running a hand through his scraggly hair, he fought the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. 

“Bad dream?’’ 

Sherlock jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He whirled around and found himself face to face with a man about his own age. “W-Who are you?’’ he demanded, every muscle in his body tense. 

The young man was tall and muscular but lean from starvation. Blond hair hung to his shoulders and bright blue eyes studied Sherlock with interest. He was dressed in the leather armor and simple tunic of a gladiator. “Jumpy, aren’t you? My name is John.’’ He held out a grimy hand. “The question is, who are you? When they dragged you into my cell, you were out cold. What did they do to you?’’ 

Sherlock relaxed but did not grasp John’s hand. “I’m called Sherlock....And, I really don’t remember anything after that soldier hit me on the head.’’ 

“You are a Celt,’’ John said shortly. He leaned against the slimy stone walls and grinned. “They called you the ‘wild’ one.’’ He squinted, studying Sherlock’s face. “You’re from Briton, aren’t you?’’ 

Hunching his shoulders, Sherlock turned away from John. He didn’t want to talk about his homeland. The very idea of Briton-Angle's Land-made his heart ache all over again. To distract himself, he glanced about the small cell he and John shared. The door was made of heavy iron bars and locked tight. The dirty floor was covered with a thin layer of rotting straw. There were some candles sitting on a ledge hewn out of the rough wall and a table in the corner. The cell smelled of human sweat, fear, and blood. It wasn’t exactly homey, but it was better than what Sherlock was used to. “Where are we?’’ 

John laughed. “You really don’t know? We’re in a gladiator school!’’ 

“A gladiator school?” Sherlock drew in a heavy breath. “Oh...” 

“You are here to die for the glory of the Emperor. I trust you have experience with the sword?’’ John lowered himself onto the ground. Without waiting for Sherlock to reply, John continued, “You’re a gladiator now. Every so often, the Praetor will call for some entertainment and we will be forced out into the arena to fight with wild animals or with our own comrades. It’s a gory, bloody sport but the Romans seem to enjoy it.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “We get fed well, though. It’s not so bad...but every day I wonder when it will be my turn to die.” 

“How long have you been here?” Sherlock asked. 

John laughed harshly. “Three years. I came here when I was nineteen. Tomorrow, I will fight my last fight. If I survive, Rome will give me my freedom.” He clenched his fists. “They say I must kill you tomorrow.” John lowered his gaze. 

“You would kill me for a promise that the Romans will not keep?” Sherlock asked bitterly. “It is foolish to trust Rome. They never keep their promises. Do you think they will honor a promise they made to a mere slave?” He shook his head fiercely. “No, they will not. I warn you, do not trust them.” 

“Do not lie to me,” John exclaimed, jumping to his feet. His blue eyes flashed with anger. “You know nothing of Rome, Celt! They have promised and I trust them!” 

“There is only one freedom for us, John. When you die in the arena, you die unconquered. And you spit in the eye of Rome.” 

“Ha. Tomorrow, you will die a slave. That is your future, but tomorrow, I will be a free man. Unfortunately, you will not live to see when that happens.” John grinned sourly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make your death quick. You’ll hardly feel pain.” 

Sherlock didn’t return the smile. “We’ll see.” 

*********************** 

“And, Calpurnius, is this your lovely daughter, Mariana? Why, she was but a toddler when you left Rome!” Senator Moriaty exclaimed, greedily gazing upon Mariana’s slender form. “She is quite lovely! You did not tell me of her beauty!” He stepped closer to Mariana and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. He was so close that Mariana could smell his strong perfume and it repulsed her. 

“Yes, she has just turned eighteen, Senator Moriaty’’ Calpurnius replied after taking another swig of his wine. “Tell the senator what you have been studying, Mariana. I am sure he will be pleased to know that his wife is both beautiful and intelligent.” 

I feel like a statue on display, Mariana hought. Avoiding Moriaty’s gaze, she backed up a few feet. “I am studying Greek, Senator, and I am learning to both read and write music.” 

“Already she has composed one sonnet,” Calpurnius said. 

Moriaty raised his eyebrows. “You are lucky, Mariana, to be educated. Most women in the Roman Empire are not as fortunate as you are.” He settled on a nearby divan and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Come, darling, sit beside me and I shall tell you of the plans I have for us once we are married!” He held out a hand to her, but Mariana did not move. Moriaty frowned, his blue eyes darkening. “Don’t you want to hear of the villa I am building for us on the coast?” he pouted, looking very much like a disagreeable two-year-old. 

“Uh...Senator, I am sure that is all very interesting but...” Mariana swallowed hard. She had to get out of here, but she didn’t have a good excuse. I don’t want to spend another minute with this dreadful man. He is only marrying me because of my riches. He will never love me the way I want to be loved. The only part of me that he will love is my beauty and my money. 

“Darling...” Moriaty’s tone was low and cold. All warmth had disappeared. 

Mariana twisted her hands in her lap. 

“Senator!” 

Moriaty nearly dropped his goblet. 

Two soldiers had burst into the room. 

Mariana exhaled slowly, thanking the gods for her rescuers. 

“What is it? Can’t you see that I’m busy?” Moriaty asked in an irritated tone. 

“Yes, Senator, but the new slaves have arrived, and we thought that you might want to take a look at them,” one of the soldiers replied quickly, bowing as he did so. 

“Ahh, yes,” Moriaty affirmed with a nod. He turned to Mariana. “I don’t know if you have heard of this, but I run a gladiator school. We train the finest fighters in the Empire. It’s good business. The Emperor favors it. Just recently, I bought a young man who showed exceptional talent. Ten soldiers came at him at once and he struck them down with his bare hands. He is a Celt and a wild one. It will be hard to control him, but we will break him eventually.” Gesturing with a bejeweled finger, he continued, “Let them in.” 

Three soldiers entered the room, herding five slaves ahead of them. 

Mariana scanned the faces of the slaves and gasped. 

There he stood, tall and as straight as a stick. His proud face had a fresh cut across the forehead and the blood was slowly trickling down his cheek. Mariana could see that he was trembling-not from fear, but from anger. His blue eyes met hers and instantly, recognition registered. 

"Sherlock!" she whispered.


End file.
